


Compromise, or: The Disappointing Fathers Club

by amorremanet



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Absent Characters, Absent Parents, Character Study, Community: hc_bingo, Community: homebrewbingo, Death References, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Ficlet, Grief/Mourning, Internment Camp 371, M/M, Multi, Parents & Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It's always the very last moment when parents can choose to surprise you, isn't it."<br/>
"It isn't guaranteed that the surprise will be a pleasant one, though. It could be a surprise that lets you down, instead."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise, or: The Disappointing Fathers Club

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts used: the postage stamp of, "grief / serial killers / mistaken identity / disappearing" for hc_bingo; and the pairing of, "misunderstood," and, "falling" for homebrewbingo.

Julian sighs, and takes himself by surprise in saying: "It's always the very last moment when parents can choose to surprise you, isn't it."

He blinks up at Ziyal and the curious expression on her face—a mix of pensive and bemused. For a moment, she says nothing, just adjusts his head in her lap and keeps carding her fingers through his hair. And eventually, she murmurs, "It isn't guaranteed that the surprise will be a pleasant one, though. It could be a surprise that lets you down, instead."

She has a point—about her own situation as well as Julian's. About his father going to prison (nearly risking Julian's freedom and career in the process), and about her own selling Cardassia and countless lives out to the Dominion. And she can likely only say so because they're in Garak's shop—the three of them, alone after business hours, with no one else around to eavesdrop on any… _sensitive_ conversations.

Which doesn't entirely describe where they've allowed their usual banter to wander this evening—the subject of fathers; of their own fathers and everything that Dukat, Tain, and Richard Bashir have done in the past five weeks. Nevertheless, it's the most accurate term that Julian has. Especially when just referencing Dukat's recent actions makes Ziyal frown so deeply, knot up her brow—her entire forehead—as though it's taking an intense effort not to cry.

Julian reaches over to squeeze her free wrist, the one that's resting near his thigh. "Regardless of the _character_ of the surprise?" he says, and peers at her, trying to convey—once again and without saying it directly—that he's sorry about Dukat. "And regardless of the actions… Isn't it reaffirming, in its own peculiar way, to be reminded that your parents aren't quite as one-dimensional as you might think?"

"Peculiar isn't the word I'd use in every situation," Ziyal says with a shrug—and then a smirk. "In all honesty, it's more fitting a description for that Doctor Zimmerman than it ever was for my father? 'Peculiar' makes me think of things like Zimmerman's fussiness, or that screech you do when you beat the Chief at darts. I prefer to think of my father as _anomalous_ or _unfamiliar_. Sometimes, _perplexing_ works, though I'd never admit that to him. Still… 'peculiar' is a word for Louis Zimmerman, not Skrain Dukat."

Julian flinches, frowns at her as though she's just given him a forkful of lemon-flavored _gagh_ —and not simply because he isn't certain what subtleties he and Ziyal might be losing thanks to their Universal Translators. "I'd rather not think about Doctor Zimmerman ever again," he says through a huff. "Never mind the issue of how he and my father almost cost me everything—I just thought dealing with Zimmerman took a sort of patience that I, for one, simply can't manage."

She keeps smiling, and stops brushing her fingers through his hair so she can muss it up instead. "He could benefit from lessons in patience from you, actually." Ziyal almost snickers, as her smirk becomes more of a grin. "I still can't fathom why he ever thought that interviewing me and Garak at the same time would ever benefit his project. The only possible explanation I see is that he thought, 'well, they're both Cardassian, how different could they really be.'"

"Following that logic, he ought to have spoken to the two of you _and_ Nerys. And I might've needed a copy of that interview tape. I can only imagine it going well… One former operative of the Obsidian Order, one well-motivated former terrorist, one artist who just wants the two of them to get along, and one smarmy, selfish, Starfleet doctor with no respect for tact or most other people—the comedy practically writes itself."

Julian chuckles, reaches his free hand up and trails a finger down the ridges on Ziyal's nose. It makes her giggle, and gets both of them smiling in some kind of relief. Without the strain, or anxiety, or snarky edge that they've both had so often, lately—and then, there's Garak. And then, there's Garak clearing his throat and asking, without moving to face them, if he might interject. Neither of them see why not—and Ziyal wonders aloud why Garak's even been so quiet tonight.

"No doubt," Julian says, "because he's been listening to everything and waiting to correct us on every count. He is, after all, an exceptional tutor in cynicism, and suspicion, and inventing all manners of subtext in _any_ conversation, then using it against people."

He's mostly teasing, but Garak still gives him a pensive sigh, a mild, agitated roll of his shoulders. Turning away from the rack of garments he's rearranging, Garak arches an eyebrow down at Julian. Wrinkling his facial ridges, wearing a look as though he means to say, _you can act harsh or tired of me all you please, my dear Doctor, but we both know that your idealism will ultimately be the death of you_ —or something similar. And who knows? He might be right about that, in the long run.

Instead, all he says is, "I believe, my young friends, that both of you are ignoring one of the other myriad possibilities here. When the last moments one has with them come due, one's parents could have certain surprises in store, yes. They _could_. On the other hand, they could, perhaps, take the opportunity to confirm everything that you already knew—for better and for worse."

And he says this with a smile. It's no different from his usual smirks, but it doesn't fit his tone or his words. Besides, it looks too tired—too much like the forced expression he wore at Tain's bedside, back in Camp 371. At that, Garak does all of this with a calm so still, so earnest that Julian _can't_ trust it—he wants to, but at the same time, precedent says this might not be the best idea.

"I suppose so," Julian acquiesces, mostly because he doesn't want to fight over this right now. "Though, from what I saw of Tain, it seemed rather uncharacteristic of him to admit to anything carrying any emotional significance, even on his death-bed. It would've fit better for him to deny everything and continue treating you as only his student—though, again, this is simply _my_ flawed, shallow, _human_ assessment of the matter."

"Not quite as human as you might suppose… and certainly not as human as you would have people think."

Finally, Garak's smirk seems to suit his tone and the situation before them—both the quirk of Garak's lips and the too-easy, knife's-edge glint in his eyes fit with what he's saying, how he's saying it, and the chill that drops into Julian's stomach, shudders up his spine. It's some miracle that Julian manages to ask, "And what _exactly_ do you mean by that?"

"Oh, please don't be offended by that statement, Doctor," Garak says, and again, he sounds earnest—quiet and oddly gentle, so unlike his normal, insistent tone. "True, the _revelation_ of your genetic background took me by surprise. And true, we have more success in eradicating the myriad augmentation procedures on Cardassia—we frown upon them because they reek of human individualism, potentially damaging the integrity of the whole by setting certain citizens apart."

"Well, I can hardly say for Khan Singh and all of the augments like him—but I never _wanted_ to be set apart—"

"Your father wanted it for you, though, did he not?" Garak's expression is cool, unruffled—with a slight tilt of the head, as though daring Julian to contradict him (and the knowledge of how he can't). "And whether you like it or not, you _are_ set apart—you were by virtue of your position and your intelligence before anyone on the station knew of your genetic background. Likewise, I presume that you were set apart before your parents had your gene sequence rearranged—though for significantly different reasons."

"But does any of that _matter_?" Julian's not begging. He's not begging because he isn't going to beg Garak for anything—at least, he won't beg Garak for anything on an emotional level. "Regardless of what people know now, I haven't _changed_ over everyone suddenly knowing what was done to me—what, being a child, I had no say in whatsoever?"

Garak's smile is so fond. So honest—it's downright unnerving. "True," he says, "you are very much the same man. And because I did not know you as a child—because all the changes I, myself, have seen in you have been thanks to personal growth—my perception of you has not been altered by this sudden insight into your behavior. I have always known that there's more to you than you wish for people to see. It's a certain subtext that I've never needed to invent."

Ziyal snorts gently, squeezing Julian's thigh. "He has a point," she says. "You're not a simple man, Julian—and I can't say for Garak, but it's certainly part of your appeal to _me_."

"That isn't… That's not what I _meant_ …" Julian sighs, fusses around in Ziyal's lap, tries to find a new comfortable spot. Even with a genetically enhanced intelligence, finding the right words in emotional situations constantly proves difficult. "What, exactly, did you mean by calling me and my behavior _not as human_ as I would have people think, Garak?"

Garak shrugs as though he can't understand any part of Julian's reaction. "I simply meant to say, my dear, that you have so many more layers to you than the average human. You don't take life or any presentations in it for granted. Like Ziyal and myself, you see all of the unintended nuances in this universe—while still trying to convince yourself that you have none at all. One might even argue that you _can't_ take anything for granted, not after spending so much time and energy concealing your true self by way of defending your life."

"It seems that you might have missed some of the _nuance_ here," Julian says, making no effort against his urge to drawl at Garak. To be just as snide as he can be, when he puts his mind to it. "It's hardly as though I've _enjoyed_ constantly lying by omission, under the threat of losing _everything_."

"Oh, I think that you enjoy it more than you've allowed yourself to believe, Doctor," Garak tells him with an affectionate chuckle. "That feeling of danger and defeating it—that knowledge that you've outsmarted some of the best minds in the Alpha Quadrant… All I mean to build to here, though, is that you have no more need to hide yourself like that—from Ziyal or from myself."

Julian huffs. "If my _dissembling_ is so inhuman, than does that statement count as something thoroughly un-Cardassian?"

And he _does_ feel a warm flutter of accomplishment when Garak needs to consider that for a moment. "Perhaps it does," he says. "But I can hardly be the only teacher in this relationship—and one thing that I've learned from you? Is that one cannot underestimate the value of compromise."


End file.
